


nothing makes me warm

by lookskindagreyout



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:36:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookskindagreyout/pseuds/lookskindagreyout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a teen!rogues au. Edward and Oswald pass a rainy afternoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing makes me warm

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just warming up on the teen!rogues au. This in mind, back storied of the characters are taken in to account with as little change as possible (depending on their versions), without the express indication that the rogues will grow up to become their criminal selves. Yeah, weird, I know. :/

It was eight in the morning when he dumped his bicycle into the untrimmed hedge just off the frozen sidewalk, leaving it half-wedged in wet leaves as he scaled the low chain link, twisted with vacant grape vines, and his sneakers nearly slipped on his way across the slushy, yellowed lawn. The rain did not stop, and his footfalls pounded up the old wooden steps to the house, the misplaced downpour dripping from the drenched hood over his head.

His numbed thumb found the buzzer on the smudged and scratched brass doorbell, and he jammed at it three times in quick succession. He waited for exactly thirty seconds, before trying again, his trio of presses faster, and he nearly tried again, before the door opened.

"Stop it," Oswald snapped immediately. Then, they stood in silence for a while, Edward’s skin prickling in the cold. Oswald sighed a little curtly through his nose, "It’s Sunday."

"Yeah," Edward replied, his fingers interlacing in the front pocket of his sweater.

Oswald looked at him again, into his face, his scarred hand over the doorknob, twiddling it back and fourth as he considered. At last he stepped back from the threshold, not in welcoming, but rather to gather his faded coat and and umbrella, “Mum, I’m going out!” he called over his shoulder, and Edward stepped back as he emerged into the cold. He shut the door before his mother could answer.

Edward lead the way down the steps and in to the rain, not looking back at his companion as he tugged on his sleeves and flapped open his umbrella. He was temped to share the shelter the canvas offered, but he knew that Oswald didn’t care for much closeness.

Edward was surprised as he felt a sharp jab to his side, “Where are we going?” Oswald questioned somewhat sourly, frowning at the rain, “I would have invited you in, but Mum’s home.”

"Is she usually gone?" Edward questioned.

"I like to pretend she is." Oswald unlatched the gate to the street, and held it open for Edward to exit the yard, shaking the wet from his hand.

"My bike," Edward said, nodding to the wrecked heap in the shrubbery nearby. Oswald peered in the direction he had indicated, and smiled.

"I don’t think there’ll be much trouble, in this weather," he assured him.

Edward returned his smile, even if it reopened the split on his lip.

Oswald had to put out his second cigarette by the time they reached the diner, and Edward pulled his sweater over his head to wring it out as best he could. The smell of sausage rushed out to meet them on a wave of warm air that Edward’s cheeks were too numb and bruised to feel, and they found a booth near the window to let themselves dry.

The waitress ignored them for a long while, and Edward used all of the napkins at the table to dry the back of his neck and blow his nose as Oswald only watched him, his eyes mapping the splotchy bruises, both fresh and healing, along his skinny arms. Edward cast his gaze down at the table, the grey of the sky reflecting off of the linoleum.

"Tea, and the breakfast special," Oswald told the waitress when she at last happened by, and Edward said nothing, until Oswald stooped to glance up in to his face from across the booth, "Eddie? Bacon or sausage?"

"What?" Edward questioned, blinking.

"Bacon," Oswald decided for him, and the waitress departed.

"Thanks, Ozzie," Edward muttered, rubbing the dampness of his lips on the back of his arm.

"Don’t thank me. We’re walking the check," Oswald replied casually, perusing the pamphlet of local ads behind the condiments.

Eddie snorted though his nose, and laughed. Oswald chuckled. Silence settled on the booth again, the downpour outside relentless. Oswald was drawing in the condensation on the window glass when at last he spoke again, “Bit of a bastard, isn’t he?”

Edward coughed quietly in to his hand, “Yeah.”

"Hm." he was nodding for a small while, and continued at last, "what was his problem this time?"

"He got my report card."

"You gave him your report card?"

"No. They caught me forging his signature; they mail it, now."

"Well fuck. How’d you do?"

"The nerd standard."

"Good for you. So what made him…?" Oswald motioned to Edward in general.

Edward lifted and lowered a single shoulder. Their order arrived, and he glanced up at the waitress, whom avoided his gaze, not staying long enough to converse. Oswald was fiddling with his tea things when Edward finished, “He thinks I cheated.”

"As if cheating is easy, these days. How did he come by this brilliant idea?"

"I don’t know." Edward rubbed his fork to a shine on his new napkin, and poked at the gravy-soaked biscuits on his plate, "He says I’m too stupid to get good grades, that I must have cheated," he took a heaping bite, chewing only twice before swallowing.

Oswald watched him over the steam, “I don’t think he knows a damn thing about you.”

"I did cheat.”

"So what?"

"So he’s my dad," Edward managed to reply though several more monstrous bites.

"So he managed to get it up for once. Whoop-de-doo. That doesn’t mean anything."

Edward leveled his gaze across the booth, “Does your mum mean anything, when she yells at you?”

Oswald looked taken aback for a split second, before his face smoothed again, and he nodded, “Okay.” He fished his teabag out of his cup with a spoon, setting it in the vacant saucer the cup had arrived on, “so, do you need to go to the hospital or anything?”

Edward shook his head, “since the deal with my rib, he keeps to my face and stuff now.”

Complete loathing crossed Oswald’s expression, his keen, bird-like eyes the colour of the Atlantic, “Well, that’s good,” he growled.

Edward finished his food in silence, and Oswald fished out a few crumpled bills from his pocket as Edward had a sip or two of his tea. “Where is he now?” Oswald asked as Edward was pulling on his half-dry sweatshirt.

"At work, I think. I don’t know. I left right after."

"Don’t be an idiot, get under the umbrella," Oswald snapped as Edward started in to the rain, and suddenly stopped himself, "Eddie."

"Yeah?" Edward pulled up his hood.

"You know you’re not an idiot, not actually. You know that, right?"

Edward smiled, “I’m smart about some stuff.”

"Get under the umbrella."

They walked shoulder to shoulder for a while, still further from Oswald’s house. From what Edward could tell, Oswald hadn’t decided where they were going exactly, but was merely taking them closer to several possible destinations, “Let’s go to the bleachers.”

"It’s Sunday," Oswald pointed out again.

"Yeah, but I like hanging out on the bleachers." Edward replied.

Oswald huffed again, “Fine.”

They sludged across the muddy, barren football field with Oswald muttering about what kind of loser they both were, and at last found shelter under the large, warped plywood awning that sheltered the cement bleachers. KNIGHTS was printed in large block letters on every level of the over-sized cement steps in chipped red paint, and their traditional spot in the furthest corner was marred with black smudges of cigarette burns, most of the paint having been picked away to reveal the grey cement beneath the surface.

Oswald closed his umbrella and shook it, as Edward had a seat on the cold concrete, sighing contentedly. He couldn’t tell if it were Oswald or his surroundings that smelled of smoke and rainwater, “We should have got a cup of coffee or something,” Edward commented absently.

"You’re a pricy date," Oswald muttered in return, and took a seat beside him. He fished around in the pocket on his coat for his cigarettes, and offered one to Edward, whom waved it off, "What?" Oswald questioned with a slight smirk, "scared it’ll kill you?"

"Maybe."

"That’s the appeal, Eddie."

Edward plucked at the hood over his head, “I live just to spite him, I think.”

"That’s a little bit sick."

"We’re a little bit sick, Ozzie." Edward replied, his gaze spanning the blurred chalk lines of the football field before them. He let out a sigh, watching the steam drift away.

Oswald lit his cigarette, and puffed on it for a while, “Don’t let him kill you, okay?” Edward looked over at his companion, and Oswald shifted a bit uncomfortably, “I’m sick too, you said it. Just a different kind. I don’t want you to die.”

"I don’t want to die. Why do you smoke like industrial-era Britain?" Edward questioned with a smirk, and Oswald let out a bark of laughter, "It’ll kill you."

"Maybe because I’m not as smart as you. Maybe I’m not as strong. Maybe I don’t know." Oswald considered his cigarette for a time, and at last returned it to his lips, "and maybe it’s something else. You want to live, and I want to die. That’s just how it is. Just be alive while I am."

"Don’t you think that’s a lot to ask?"

"I do what I want."

Edward laughed, and Oswald put his arm around his shoulders, “I love you too, Ozzie.”

 

END.


End file.
